I had a miscarriage between my second and third full term pregnancies. I had only known for a week that I was pregnant before I miscarried. But in that short week I had so many thoughts of my baby. I made a mental plan in that short week of how we’d set up our house to welcome the new life. I had so many thoughts of us as a family of five. I never thought I would lose that baby because my first two pregnancies resulted in full term healthy babies. I didn’t expect that loss to be my reality. I had been successful twice so I didn’t think it would happen to me.
In that short week I was filled with anticipation of my two boys holding my newborn baby and smiling. I could actually see them in my mind sitting on the couch cuddling with my tiny baby with baby blankets strewn across their laps. I could see their eyes lit up as they talked to the baby. I imagined that baby as a running toddler playing soccer with my older two boys in our yard.
I never thought miscarriage would happen after healthy pregnancies. I was wrong and a week after finding out I was pregnant I began to bleed. The bleeding didn’t stop. I took another pregnancy test and it was still positive, but then the next one was negative. I had lost the baby.
I talked with the doctor and I didn’t even need to go in. They said I had lost the baby. I wanted them to be wrong. I wanted it to be a mistake. I wanted to go into the doctor so they could run tests and prove to me my baby was gone. My baby had vanished. I couldn’t hug a miscarriage; I was left alone wondering what I had done wrong.
I thought maybe I worked too hard or maybe I stayed out in the hot sun with my two-year old at the park for too long. Maybe I didn’t eat right or sleep enough.
My first thoughts were at least it happened early on. But somehow I was still sad and the shortness of it didn’t make it any easier. I had lost the joy that a pregnancy brings. I had lost all those future memories. Even though I was only pregnant for a week I lost a person. I felt that perhaps it wasn’t real. Maybe it wasn’t even a real baby. There was no way to know yet somehow I knew it was a real. I had lost a whole person, not just a week long pregnancy.
I was so sad and depressed. I couldn’t shake it. The tears kept tackling me down to the ground as I trudged along and took care of my two kids. I kept trying to convince myself that I had it easy because I had only known for a week about the pregnancy. Somehow I couldn’t shake the sadness.
I couldn’t forget that my mother-in-law had already promised to fly in to help us when the baby would be born in February. I couldn’t forget that I had told friends and family because I was so excited and now I’d have to tell them it wouldn’t happen. I couldn’t forget that I already loved that baby the second I saw the lines on the pregnancy test. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was supposed to have a February baby.
My friend who had also experienced a miscarriage gave me the most thoughtful gift. I didn’t expect it when she handed it to me. I didn’t want to even own that book. I didn’t want to be the one of many who had miscarried. The book was entitled Mommy, Please Don’t Cry: There Are No Tears in Heaven. That book made me cry. It let me cry. It let me feel sad and mourn my baby. I didn’t have to believe that a one week only pregnancy didn’t really matter. It did matter. It mattered to me.
Even now when I read this book eight years later my tears still come for that little person I lost. I still mourn for my week long baby. I can’t wait to meet my week long baby in heaven. I know I will get to meet him or her and I can’t wait for that day to come. I will get to tell that baby just because I only knew you for a week doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I will get to say I love you in person.
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